


At The Mercy Of The Gods' Design

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Except it has a happy ending, I promise it's good just read it, Irene is Aphrodite, M/M, Phaedra and Hippolytus, True Love, gods playing tricks, love spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: A story of family, meddling gods, magic, loyalty, and true love. (A Johnlock AU of Euripides' Phaedra and Hippolytus.)





	

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful queen who sired two wise and handsome sons. The elder of the two, Mycroft, used his wits and influence to carve himself a high-ranking position in the government. The younger, Sherlock, chose to devote his efforts to science and justice, putting his extraordinary talents to work solving crimes. He was looked upon favorably by Athena, and in turn, he deeply honored the goddess. Instead of taking a partner and rearing a family, he remained solitary and dedicated his life to his work.

This niggled the ego of Aphrodite (or as some would call her, Irene).

One day, after successfully proving a man innocent of murder and locating the real guilty party, Sherlock and his friend, the chief of police, Lestrade, returned to the temple to praise the gods for their victory. Sherlock knelt before the effigy of the goddess of wisdom. “Hail, o great and honorable Athena,” he murmured. Then he turned to leave.

Lestrade cleared his throat. “My lord. Have you forgotten to bow before Aphrodite?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I honor not romantic love. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.” He turned and left.

But Irene heard, and she was enraged. She vowed to take her revenge.

Since Sherlock had Athena’s blessing - and Irene dare not risk bringing down her wrath - the goddess of love could not touch him. _But_. There were some individuals who were fair game.

Sherlock’s mother, the beautiful and brilliant Queen Violet, had been widowed by her beloved husband, Sherlock's father, King Siger, and had taken a young warrior and medic, a war hero, for a spouse. His name was John. He was but four years older than Sherlock, and a brave, good, and kind man. He and Sherlock had surprisingly become good friends.

Irene, in all her vengeful wickedness, decided to disrupt the peaceful household. So, when Queen Violet sailed across the sea to visit her good friend Lady Martha of an outlying territory, Irene cast a love spell on the unsuspecting husband to the queen, causing him to fall madly for his stepson and best friend.

John was a terrible state of distress. He was in the kind of love where one could not eat, could not sleep, could think of nothing except the object of his desire. He locked himself in his chambers, away from everyone except his single most trusted attendant, Molly. “This is madness!” he lamented to her woefully. “Am I not happily married to a queen? An admirable woman whose hand so many lords and princes would vie for? What illness of the mind afflicts me that I must desire her son?”

“I know not, my lord,” Molly answered. “But Sherlock is one of the wisest men in the land. Surely he would have an idea-”

“No, _no_!” John gasped. “Molly, Sherlock cannot know of my love for him! Swear to me that you will not tell him. The gods have mercy on me if Sherlock or anyone is ever to know. I would rather starve myself and die in this room than dishonor my wife in such a way.”

“No, my lord, please!” said Molly. “Let me find a cure, a spell, to relieve you of your curse.”

John nodded miserably. “I will allow it. Thank you, Molly.”

But Molly had deceived the good soldier. She did indeed go to the younger son of Violet and told him of his stepfather’s troubles, hoping for his counsel.

Sherlock outwardly reacted in anger, outraged at John’s apparent unfaithfulness to his mother. But inside, he was very troubled. For you see, unbeknownst to Molly, John, his mother, or even Aphrodite herself...

The scholar had secretly fallen in love with John.

The two had created a bond before John had married the queen. Sherlock had been injured out in the forest during one of his experiments after being bitten by a venomous spider (being Athena’s favored, Arachne didn’t much care for Sherlock either). John had been hunting in the woods when Athena sent an owl to lead him to her favorite disciple. John was able to nurse the dying man back to full health. John’s face was the first thing Sherlock saw upon waking: his eyes were as blue as Poseidon’s palace, his hair kissed by Apollo, and his smile as warm as the hearth of Hestia. He had instantly fallen in love.

John had been interested in Sherlock’s studies and experimentations, and praised his brilliance most highly, and if there was one thing Sherlock had a weakness for, it was compliments from handsome military men. Sherlock was completely besotted with him in a way he didn't think possible.

Then John had wed his mother, and Sherlock's poor heart was shattered into pieces.

He asked Athena how the Fates could be so cruel as to send him this perfect man, not knowing it was the goddess herself who had connected them, then rip him away.

Athena, taking pity on the young man, offered to distract him with puzzles to solve and science experiments to conduct. Sherlock miserably agreed, and foreswore romantic love forever, turning his back on the cruel Aphrodite.

Sherlock suspected she was up to her usual foul tricks. “John does not love me truly,” he reasoned, even though it ripped him apart inside to even think it. “He has been bewitched. I'll consult with Mycroft, though I am loathe to do it. I'll be discreet, and tell him of our stepfather’s problem, though he need not know who John desires. Mycroft may know how to undo the harpy’s damage.”

(“‘Harpy’?!” Irene fumed.)

But even his brother knew not how to undo this curse. “Brother mine, the only way I see to save John from himself is to send the object of his affections away, so that he may at least get some peace from what plagues him. In time, his agency could even return to him.”

Sherlock swallowed hard. “You're right. I'll...tell John's beloved to go away. I'll have a ship made ready immediately.”

But on the day Sherlock was to sail away, planning to stay with his mother's friend, the Lady Martha, his stepfather burst into his chambers where he was packing the last of his things, having heard of his incipient flight. “Where do you think you're going?” demanded John. “Do you even think of your poor mother, the heartbreak she will suffer when she finds her youngest has flown the nest?”

Sherlock did not dare to look into the other man's eyes, for fear he would see the depths of love Sherlock felt for him in his soul. “I plan only to leave for several months,” he lied. “Mother is strong. She will not cry or pine for me while I am gone.”

“Then allow me to accompany you, at least. You don't know the dangers you may encounter, and you may need a soldier, or a doctor,” John pled, telling himself his offer stemmed from an innocent concern for the other man's well being, but he knew, in honesty, it was because he could not bare to be left by his beloved.

“And what of your _wife_ , John?” Sherlock spat bitterly. “Will her bed not grow cold without your presence? Shall you not miss her the tiniest inkling should you opt to leave with me for an indefinite amount of time?”

“You overrate my relationship to the queen, Sherlock,” said John, his name on the soldier's lips sounding like sweet music to the scholar. “We are fond of each other, but our marriage goes no further than close friendship. I am not in love with her, nor she with me.”

Sherlock finally sighed. “It doesn't matter. You have a duty to the queen, my mother, your wife. I am simply removing myself to ease the effects of your curse. Aphrodite’s magic laces your eyes, your heart, John, and makes you long for things you would not in a proper mindset.”

A shadow passed over John's face. “Molly told you. It doesn't matter. If you know what's in my heart, then you know that if you leave me here alive, you shall return to find me dead.”

Sherlock could not allow that. John was too bright, too warm, too good to die, to leave this world to grow cold and dark without his luminescence. “Fine, come with me if you must!” he snapped. “But we shall focus on breaking the goddess’s enchantment on you. Make your excuses, pack your possessions. Meet me on my ship when the sun is at its peak.”

At noon, they sailed. They were at sea for days, both silently pining for the other, and both suffering.

Finally, they reached the other land, where they were faced with a few days’ hike to Martha's village. They walked by day and slept under the trees by night.

One hot day, they came across a clear stream. John immediately fell to his knees and thanked the gods, about to take a drink, when Sherlock stopped him. “No, you fool! Do you not see? This is a tributary of the River Lethe! One touch of the water on your skin, and your memory will wash away.” Then, the genius had a brilliant idea. “John, this is the solution! We'll wipe your mind of Aphrodite’s spell, and then you can return home where you belong.”

“Me? And what of you?”

Sherlock looked away, his heart aching. “I shall remain here. I've always wanted to see the world. Come now, John, the water.”

Sherlock carefully wet the corner of a cloth and gently washed John's eyes with the enchanted water. John slowly opened his eyes and gazed upon Sherlock. “How do you feel?” Sherlock asked.

“Different,” John replied. “I am no longer heartsick.”

“Good,” said Sherlock, rising from his knees. “Then you may happily return to your wife-”

“Sherlock, wait,” said John, taking his hand to keep him from walking away. “I may have been cured of Aphrodite’s touch, but that does not mean I am not still in love with you.”

“No, no!” Sherlock exclaimed in frustration, his poor heart screaming in pain. “You are mistaken, this is still magic at work! You cannot love me, John, it is absolutely impossible.”

“Why is that?” John asked, shocked. “You are brilliant, amazing...beautiful. How could I not be in love with you?”

Sherlock shook his head stubbornly, squeezing his eyes shut, refusing to cry. “If you loved me, you would not have married my mother.”

“Sherlock, when a soldier is told by his queen to do something, he does it, whether he wants to or not,” John laughed weakly. “Your mother needed a spouse, so how could I refuse? I thought perhaps in time, I could grow to love her...but now I see. It's you. It's always been you.”

Sherlock stifled a sob. “Go back, John. Go home. Return to your wife, just leave me, please-”

“Why would you so adamantly have me return to her when my heart is here, with you?” John inquired, pulling him to the ground. He cupped the other man's face. “Look at me, Sherlock,” the soldier tenderly whispered.

Sherlock opened his eyes to gaze into those of his friend, the same cornflower eyes he'd fallen for at first sight. Sherlock could no longer hold back his grief, and cascades of tears flowed down his cheeks. “Because although my love for you is great, I have a duty, to my queen and to my mother.”

John kissed away his tears. “You love me.”

“Yes, John, you, always you,” Sherlock wept, and John lovingly kissed his lips, absorbing his anguished cries and holding him for the longest time, until the pain in Sherlock's chest turned into joy from his love being reciprocated. They kissed and caressed and stripped each other bare, and brought each other to bliss under the shady branches of the forest, moaning each other's names and whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you...”

As the sun went down on the day, the two lovers lay naked and entwined on a blanket of leaves and flowers. “John...what shall we do?” Sherlock asked, laid out across his beloved’s chest, as John held him close and absently twirled strands of Sherlock’s soft chocolate curls around his finger.

John sighed wearily, yet not without contentment. “Martha's home is only half a day's journey from here. I say, we seek out Violet immediately, tell her of our love, and ask her blessing on us. As I said, Violet is a good woman, and my dear friend, and she adores you very much. I believe she'll want nothing but our happiness. Then we shall make a home here, in this land, where I can care for the people when they are ill and you can solve their puzzles for them.”

Sherlock kissed his ear. “That sounds wonderful,” he murmured.

So, when the lovers arrived in the village the next day, they found the queen and told her the truth. Violet was shocked, but she loved both young men and wanted only for them to be happy, and gladly blessed them. Lady Martha added that she would be ecstatic to have them live in her domain.

So Sherlock and John set up a home, where they doctored and detected and experimented and wrote books and kept bees and ate and slept and bickered and lived and loved for the rest of their days. The gods smiled down on them till they passed into Elysium. And to this day, you can still hear Irene taking credit for bringing the two together.

_The End._


End file.
